


Sit In The Silence

by ArtistActorAthens



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simonverse | Creekwood Series - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Coming Out, Feels, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, The ish meaning Bram and Garrett met in middle school and not junior year, a dash of homophobia, but like no one is specifically homophobic, but that’s kind of it, ish, it’s just a bit from a movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtistActorAthens/pseuds/ArtistActorAthens
Summary: “Maybe it’s the fatigue from the game, or maybe the soft deliriousness that always comes with it being 2 AM, but I think I want to tell him. I want to tell him that I might be gay. I’ve never wanted to tell anyone before. After all, it’s not a very good conversation starter. But I do want to. I’m not sure why.”This was an idea I’d tossed around in my head for a bit: What if Bram had come out to Garrett pre-canon?
Relationships: Bram Greenfeld & Garrett Laughlin, Bram Greenfeld/Simon Spier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 95





	Sit In The Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Bram’s POV.
> 
> This sort of toes the line between canon-compliant and non-canon-compliant. You have been warned.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

“Yooo, Bram, you in there?” Garrett waves a hand in front of my face. “I just tossed a pillow at your leg and you barely flinched.”

“You did?” I ask. I look around at the mess of blankets and cushions and potato chip crumbs, and I spot a discarded blue pillow a few inches away from my ankle. “Wow, you’re getting weak,” I joke. Garrett feigns offense and throws a second pillow at me, which hits me square in the face. I roll my eyes and toss the twin pillows back up to Garrett, who’s lying on the worn-out couch with a picnic blanket draped across his ankles and his phone and earbuds sprawled over his stomach. I see them shake as he laughs. Garrett has a really loud laugh. It’s one of those laughs that stretches through his whole body and spreads throughout a room.

“In my defense,” he says through snorts, holding up his hands, “In my defense, you don’t really have to throw things in soccer.”

“I’d think with the strength of your right arm you’d manage just fine,” I retort with a smirk. I’m pretty quiet, generally speaking. I’m afraid that if I make snarky comments like this, people won’t know that I’m joking. Garrett does, though, so we dissolve into laughter again.

These sleepovers are kind of a tradition. I used to live pretty far away from my school, and my mother has worked late nights for as long as I can remember, so she usually can’t pick me up. (She tries her best to come to most of my games, though.) Soccer practice finishes up before the activity bus makes its rounds at 4:30, but since games always run until at least 6, I’ve spent every game night since the beginning of seventh grade at Garrett’s house. It’s so close to the school that you can walk to and from there. 

That was actually kind of how we met. We knew each other through soccer, but we didn’t really become good friends until the first time my mom made the suggestion. _“You should ask one of your teammates to spend the night!”_ I remember her saying over the phone. _“It’ll be a great opportunity to make a new friend.”_

Parents and their opportunities. I’m two years away from being an adult, and I still don’t get why everything has to be some sort of opportunity. I don’t understand why some things can’t just be. 

I didn’t really have the chance to take any opportunity, though, because before I could get out a word, Garrett’s dad had offered me an air mattress at his house. _“Is that alright with you, champ?”_ he’d asked Garrett _. “It’ll be like a sleepover.”_

Garrett had looked at me, then shrugged _. “Sure. That’s cool.”_

It had been pretty awkward the first couple of nights, but eventually we got more comfortable with each other after our interests outside of soccer were discovered ( _“Dude, Marvel freakin’ rocks!”)_ and embarrassing secrets were revealed ( _“What do you_ _mean_ _you ate a bug?”_ ). My mom and I moved this year, so I live close enough to my school that it’s not really a problem anymore. But Garrett and I still do the sleepovers; it’s probably due to the nostalgia factor. Well, that and the distraction from the real world. Whenever I’m on that beige-carpeted living room floor surrounded by pillows and food and stories, I feel like I’m twelve again. Twelve and with no care in the world.

It’s then that I realize I’m thinking in fragments. I feel a squeeze in my chest; it’s the same little pull I felt during our peer-editing session in English last week. _Great essay, but you can’t write in fragments,_ I had written at the bottom for my partner. _You have to write in complete sentences or Mr. Wise will take points away._

_No,_ I say internally. It’s more like a plead. _Just distract yourself._

“I mean, you already seem pretty distracted, dude,” Garrett says, unknowingly bringing me back into the real world and out of the world in my head. “You okay?”

I blush. I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud. “I’m fine,” I reply. “Something else is distracting me, and I guess I want to...distract myself from that.” I’m usually very skilled with words. Tonight is different, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because someone’s smile is currently drifting lazily through my head. I tap my temple with my fingers, as if that will make it go away.

“You want to distract yourself from whatever’s been distracting you?” Garrett asks. 

“I guess so.”

“Do you want to do the thing where I keep talking and just don’t shut up?”

I nod, then my lips quirk. “I thought you did that all the time.” That’s another nice thing about our friendship. I’m always quiet, and Garrett fills the space with noise.

“Want me to play a movie, too?” Garrett asks. I shrug, and he gets up to sort through the DVD cabinet next to the TV. Garrett’s family is one of the only families I know who doesn’t have Netflix. “We have some Marvel and Star Wars stuff, 80s comedies, and...you know what, fuck it. You’ve been coming over for years. You know what movies we have, right? Anything you have in mind?”

“I guess I’d prefer something lighthearted and silly.”

_“Dumb and Dumber_ it is,” Garrett declared, popping the disc into the DVD player.

The ludicrous hijinks of Lloyd and Harry play in the background as Garrett tells me about the camping trip he and his parents took when he was nine. I’d already heard about it many times, but it’s a pretty funny story, so I let him tell it again. He moves around a lot when he tells stories. I have to duck a few times to keep his elbows and hands from hitting my head. 

“And _then_ ,” Garrett says, arms flailing, “after _all that,_ my dad realized he’d forgotten to pack the food for our dinner.” He sighs. “And my mom and I would have been perfectly fine with leftover cold cuts. But no. Campfire hot dogs were just too damn important.”

I laugh. I know this part. “So your dad called the grocery store and asked if they could —”

“He asked if the grocery store could deliver the hot dogs to _the middle of the goddamn woods,_ ” Garrett finishes. “And of course they were like, ‘um, hell no,’ and then they just hung up. They probably thought it was some crazy drunk dude making a prank call.” He sighs. “So we just had cold cuts.”

“And uh, where was your sister during all this?” I ask. I feel the giggles bubbling up in my throat. I already know the answer.

“Right! My sister refused to come with us because she had to _‘study for finals’_ , and when we got home she was _covered_ in hickeys. Like, half of her body was just. Purple. So of course my parents are lecturing her and yelling at her, and my little nine-year-old self tugs on my mom’s shirt and asks, “Mom, why is Tara covered in big bug bites? She didn’t even come camping with us!”

I give a half-hearted laugh. We’re about halfway through the movie. I’ve seen _Dumb and Dumber_ a couple of times, but this scene is unfamiliar. I point to the TV. “I don’t remember this part.”

Garrett squints. “Oh, this must be the unrated version. They cut this scene out, I think.”

Lloyd looks downright evil. He and Harry are in a jacuzzi talking about sex or something, and then he says, “I’d bet you’d like it, too. _Homo._ ”

I sigh. _It’s a joke,_ I think. _It’s just a product of the times. Everyone made jokes about that kind of stuff. People still do._

It shouldn’t bother me this much, but it does. I squirm as the scene continues. Garrett hums and twirls his shoelace around his finger. “I think I prefer the original version, to be honest.”

“Me, too,” I say quietly. I’m sure I’m not straight. This is a part of my life and other people’s lives that’s being made into a joke. It’s not just _Dumb and Dumber._ It’s everywhere. I like a lot of those movies, but the jokes always sting. 

I look up to where Garrett is sitting. His arms are crossed and he’s trying to skip the rest of the scene. “C’mon, remote. Work with me here…”

Maybe it’s the fatigue from the game, or maybe the soft deliriousness that always comes with it being 2 AM, but I think I want to tell him. I want to tell him that I might be gay. I’ve never wanted to tell anyone before. After all, it’s not a very good conversation starter. But I do want to. I’m not sure why.

I want to tell him, but at the same time, it feels too big. It seems like too much to do at once.

I suppose I could tell him about Simon. That could be a start. “Could you, uh, pause the movie for a second?”

Garrett hits a button, and the movie stops. “You okay?” He doesn’t seem tired at all. I’m not surprised, though. Garrett routinely stays up past midnight playing fantasy football.

“I’m fine,” I say. I’m not sure if I’m reassuring him or myself. “I...I want to tell you something.” 

“Oh, this is serious talk time,” Garrett realizes. “Alright, c’mon up.” He pats the spot next to him and I clamber up, situating myself and adjusting the blanket underneath my legs. Garrett cocks his head to the side. “What’s going on?” he asks.

I inhale. “So…” I trail off. The silence hangs in the dark. “I...I think I like someone.”

Garrett’s eyes widen. “Dude. Are you serious?”

“Well, okay, I’m not entirely sure, but I think maybe.”

His jaw drops. “OH MY GOD,” he yells, before remembering that it’s 2 in the morning and most normal people are asleep. “Oh my god,” he says at a quieter volume. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me about liking someone! This is like historic, dude!”

I laugh and hope he can’t hear how much it shakes. “I mean, it’s not that big of a deal. I’m not even sure it’s a crush.”

“Still, though. Well, who is it?” After a millisecond of silence: “C’mon, Bram, you gotta tell me who it is!”

“I don’t know, man...like I said, I don’t even know if it’s an actual crush.”

“Well, why do you think you like her?” Garrett asks. There’s the innocent, assumed feminine pronoun I’d been anticipating. I don’t blame Garrett. For a while, I assumed I was straight, too. “I gotta know, man. I wanna tease you for being a sap. And I have to give you ‘the lecture’ if you two end up hooking up.”

A lot of people think Garrett is a huge douche. People are wrong. He’s only a tiny douche. I hit his arm, and then think for a moment, trying to figure out how to string the words together. “Why do I think I...like my maybe-crush, you said?”

Garrett nods. “Yeah.”

He’s getting tired. His adrenaline is wearing off, but he’s still looking for an answer. “Sometimes,” I start, trying to figure out how to word what I want to say. “Sometimes I’m just not doing anything, and then there’s the person, in my head.”

“Yeah, that can happen with crushes,” Garrett agrees.

“That doesn’t seem like a lot of proof, though,” I point out. “I mean, Nick was head-over-heels for Taylor in eighth grade. He never shut up about her.”

“True. But not all crushes are like that. You can like someone just sort of...casually, y’know? Like, _hey, this person’s cute_. Or like, _if I was asked out by her I’d say yes._ It doesn’t have to be life-consuming.”

“Maybe, but I...I don’t know.”

“Listen, bud,” Garrett says. “If you’re thinking about whether or not it is a crush this much, it probably is.”

“I guess, but I don’t know this person all that well,” I admit. “I mean, I know who they are, but we don’t really talk.” I intentionally use _they_ instead of _she_. “Maybe I just want to get to know them better, but as a friend.”

“Welp, there’s a pretty easy way to find out,” Garrett replies. “Have you thought about kissing her?”

I hadn’t thought about it before, but now that Garrett had brought it up, there’s Simon. He’s back in my mind, smiling his lazy smile and ruffling his already-messy hair, eyes shining from behind his glasses. He laughs at something, and then he’s closing his eyes as he leans in to kiss me. Imagining it is nice. It feels soft and warm, and it makes me smile a little, but also blush. “I have now,” I grit through my teeth. There’s no bite to my words; I’m just embarrassed. If there was any doubt left in my mind about me being gay, it’s gone now. It’s a little more difficult to deny it that way, but I suppose that’s the point.

Garrett coos. I’m not kidding. He actually _coos._ “Aww, that’s adorable,” he says, “and it is also definitely proof that you like her at least a little bit. So now that you know you like her, can you _please_ tell me who she is? I’m dying over here, Greenfeld!”

I almost laugh at the irony, but that doesn’t distract from the fact that the assumed she/her pronouns are slowly killing me. Not for the first time, I wish straight wasn’t the default. “Um...well.” _Here goes nothing._ “It’s...it’s not a girl, actually.”

It’s almost pitch-black, save the light from the TV. I can barely see his face, but I can see how it scrunches into confusion. _He’s not getting it._ Then, I see the moment it unfurls into understanding. _Okay. Now he’s getting it._

“Bram,” he says, dumbfounded.

I smile sheepishly. “Hi,” I respond.

“Wow. So...it’s a guy, then?” I nod. “Wow, okay.” He nods to himself. “Cool. So...who is he?”

“That’s it?” I ask.

“What’s ‘it’?” he replies.

“I was honestly expecting you to make a bigger deal out of this,” I say. “You make a big deal out of everything.”

“Do you want me to?” he asks. “Because, like, we can totally rewind like thirty seconds and I can give you a big heartfelt speech where I put my hand on your shoulder like a supportive dad friend and go all, ‘ _Abraham Louis Greenfeld, I accept you being..._ gay? Bi?” I shrug. “ _I support and accept you liking a fellow dude._ I can totally do that if you want.”

“You sort of did, just now,” I say with a smile. “But, thanks.”

“Of course, man.” Garrett grins. “Sooo...can you tell me who it is?”

Suddenly, I’m nervous again. “I want to,” I say. The _“but I can’t”_ isn’t said aloud. I shouldn’t be this tense, but I am. Even Garrett can sense how nauseated I am.

He’s not phased, however. “Okay, then I’ll guess,” he says. I mentally brace myself. Logical deduction is not one of Garrett’s strong suits. “So I’m just going to go ahead and assume it’s not me, because you’re telling me.” I nod. “And it’s not Nick, right?” I nod again. I can’t speak. “Hmm…” Garrett puts a finger to his chin. “Does he even go to Shady Creek?” 

I nod. “He’s in our grade,” I say quietly. 

Garrett’s eyes light up like a goofy Scooby-Doo villain. He gets up from the couch and stands in front of me. “Well, that narrows it down!” 

He thinks for a moment, then starts to pace. “Is he on the team?” I shake my head. “Okay, not on the soccer team...in our grade...do I know this kid by name?” I nod. “Ooh, okay. How about...hmm…”

Garrett is fantastically terrible at guessing. I think he lists about thirty more names — all incorrect — before I decide I’ve had enough. “At this rate, we’ll go through the entire male junior class,” I say.

“I’m stumped,” Garrett says. “Dude, I have no idea.”

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t guessed him yet,” I say softly. “He’s friends with Nick.”

“Hold up. He’s a friend of Nick’s?” I nod slowly. “Well, you said it’s not me, and it’s no one else on the soccer team, so unless it’s —” 

Then he stops. He makes an O shape with his lips, and then he starts chuckling. “Man, I’m a dumbass,” he says as he falls back onto the couch. “It’s Simon, isn’t it?”

I smile and duck my head. I feel my cheeks flush. “Yeah.”

“Huh. Simon Spier.” He extends the _er._ He’s quiet for a moment, and then nods in approval. “I mean, yeah, I guess he’s cute, I don’t really know,” he says. “Yeah, that makes sense.” His eyes widen. “You should totally call him. Like right now.”

I take a pillow and smash my face into it. “Nooooooo,” I groan.

He yanks it away from me. “Oh my god, yes, you totally should. C’mon.”

“Garrett, it’s 3 AM. He’s probably asleep. Besides, I don’t have his number.”

He picks up his phone and waves it. “I do.”

I shake my head and lie back into the couch. “Nope. You can call him if you want, but I’m not doing it.”

“I’m putting it on speaker.”

“Don’t say anything about what I said,” I beg.

“Of course not,” Garrett replies. “How much of an asshole do you think I am? Don’t answer that. I don’t think I want to know.” His phone rings three times, and then we hear a muffled, _“Hello?”_

I smile to myself. I’ve never heard sleepy Simon’s voice before, but it’s pretty cute. “Told you he was asleep, genius,” I whisper to Garrett. 

“Whaddup, Spier,” Garrett says. “It’s ya boi Garrett, comin’ atcha live from my living room.”

I fight back a laugh. Who other than Garrett says stuff like that?

_“Hey. It’s like, really early, man,”_ Simon says. _“Is everything okay?”_

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine!” Garrett replies. “We were just bored and wanted to talk to somebody is all.”

_“We?”_

“Me and Bram,” he says, winking at me. I gently swat him.

_“Mhmm. Hey, Bram,”_ Simon says lazily. My heart does the little pull again.

“Hey, Simon,” I say. “Just so you know, this was entirely Garrett’s idea.”

_“Yeah, I figured,”_ he says. _“‘s there anything else you need, or can I go back to sleep now?”_ He fumbles for a second. _“Shit, that’s not what I… that came out wrong. I like talking to you guys, but I’m like, really tired. I went to sleep at like…”_ We hear a few clicks as he taps his phone screen. _“...two hours ago.”_

“We’ll let you go back to sleep now,” I say. It comes out more fondly than I’d like it to. Garrett pokes me, and I shove him back so quickly he almost drops the phone.

_“Hmm. Thanks. Talk to you later.”_

“See you, my dude,” Garrett says. “Sorry we woke you up.”

_“All good.”_

_Click._

Garrett turns to me. “Well, on the bright side, it doesn’t seem life-consuming. I mean, you can string a sentence together.”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “Talking on the phone is different than talking in person because I don’t have to see anyone’s face. I get really quiet around cute guys.”

“You’re always quiet.”

“No, I mean I completely freeze up. I can’t say anything.”

“Well, if you can’t say anything, that means you can’t say anything embarrassing,” Garrett points out. It’s an obvious, surface-level statement, but it helps.

I’m lying on the floor, and Garrett’s on the couch, and it’s pitch dark save the dim moonlight coming in through the window. Silence wraps around you in the early hours of the morning, and now that I have nothing else to focus on, I can feel it. I can’t decide if it’s terrifying or comforting.

I came out to my best friend. I’m still processing that. I came out to my best friend, and he wasn’t weirded out by it. In fact, he was downright _chill_ with it. I honestly don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. “Sometimes, I wish I could just scream about it from the rooftops,” I say to myself, “just to get some of the struggles off of my chest.” If only I could.

“Well, you have me,” Garrett says. I hadn’t known he was still awake. He yawns. “But there’s also the...what’s it called. The Tumblr. If you wanted to write about it.”

“Creeksecrets? Are you insane?”

“I’m serious. You could write anonymously or under a fake name or something. I feel like that’s kind of like screaming it from the rooftops, except you don’t have to look at anybody and no one knows who you are.” He shrugs. “Just tossin’ ideas around.”

As far as Garrett’s ideas go, it’s not a terrible one. “I’ll think about it,” I say softly, and then I’m drifting off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> (There’s a pretty subtle Easter egg tucked into this fic. Let me know if you find it!)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos are appreciated!


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